What Have You Done With

Those Who Deny The Existence Of The Truth Postulate The Truth Of Their Denial And Plainly Contradict Themselves.

I Thought My Fire Was Out, And Stirred The Ashes…. I Burnt My Fingers.

The Only Living Language Is The Language In Which We Think And Have Our Being.

What The Poet Is Searching For Is Not The Fundamental I But The Deep You.

My Soul Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. It Neither Sleeps Nor Dreams, But Watches, Its Eyes Wide Open Far-off Things, And Listens At The Shores Of The Great Silence.